


And What They Do About It

by CravenWyvern



Series: It's Just A Game Of Chess [2]
Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Character Death, Gen, Murder, Violence, WX78s empathy module is very broken
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-19
Updated: 2018-01-19
Packaged: 2019-03-06 19:32:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13418145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CravenWyvern/pseuds/CravenWyvern
Summary: The pawns and the rooks and the knights and the bishops all have some unfinished buisness.They've earned a little revenge by now.





	And What They Do About It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "THIEF."

One of the gardens was slowly being picked over.

It's almost barren appearance grinded heavily in the robot's innards, cogs and wheels speeding up for a moment before hissing steam escaped almost explosively from in between their joints, rising in a heated cloud that dissipated in the cold air. The ground was not frozen over just yet, the winter storms late this year, but the air was cold and already had driven the fleshlings into covering themselves with the skins of animals and spider silk.

WX78 had no reason to be so barbaric.

Something clicked inside them, whirring and then sliding together, their optical openings flashing with light for a brief moment before the heater inside them started to vibrate, warmth radiating inside their barrel chest. The robot shifted their weight, the bush they were crouched behind losing a few small oval leaves at their movements, metal scraping against metal. They held their morning star loosely in one hand, fully charged and functioning properly, everything in order.

All the robot had to do was wait.

At first Wx78 had assumed it was a die off, the cold destroying the plants fragile systems. The evidence of complete disappearance, the ever so slight scuffs in the dirt surrounding their original places, alerted the robot to something else going on.

They hadn't assumed foul play at first, instead hunting around for rabbit warrens and mole colonies, vermin that may be eating their property, but nothing came of the search.

Now, with winter so close, true winter, WX78 was done with watching their garden get destroyed. 

Dark plants, slimy leaves and exotic, heavily perfumed flowers were incredibly hard to come by, and the robot had seeped too much of their time into this plot of land for some thief to make off with their work. They had enough fuel, more than enough to keep their joints smoothly working for the entire winter, but the point wasn't that they may not have enough for the spring.

The point was that someone thought they could get away with stealing from them.

WX78 had already gone down the list of the fleshy meat bags who could be doing it. Suspicions were higher than others for a few, their names marked and stored away, watched carefully from a distance, and yet the robot had not caught a slip of anything from anyone at camp. No new stores of nightmare fuel, no new flower gardens, nothing at all.

Still, the robot did not cross them out just yet. Anyone could be the thief, any of the humans that WX78 reluctantly called campmates; the consequences would be dire once the robot caught them red handed. 

The sun slowly sunk downwards, a red and orange sunset, yet WX78 kept their vision firmly upon the garden, peeking through the bushes thinning leaves. The whirring of their heater was low, constant background noise, reminiscent of a night insect, and thus the robot hunkered down, waiting, watching.

The darkness was slowly encroaching, their unlit lantern by their side just in case there was a no show. The possibility was there, of something outside of WX78s control or even programmed understanding, but the robot did not even consider this as plausible. 

Their coding would not allow such a thing, and more steam eased out in a fading cloud around their head, pressure inside their chest lessening as gears and wires were moved, cogs shifting their insides around.

It was getting dark, the colors bleeding away, and with the temperature drop the robots heater whirred a little louder, an insistently loud bug in the bushes. Their joints would begin to lock up soon, only their core kept warmed enough to allow for full processing power, and eventually they would have to give up for tonight.

Slowly the cons were beginning to outweigh the pros, a list of data clicking down inside their metal scalp, and WX78 came to the conclusion that this was a lost cause, at least for tonight. Their sight was becoming greatly stunted, the grey still light enough but heading into the darkness of night, and the robot got ready to stand up, to make their way back to camp, joints stiff as warmth was siphoned in small bursts from their chest to their extremities.

Then something made a noise, a shuffling and crackling of dry, cold grass and twigs, and the robot shut down the paths of action they were just about to commence, still and tightening their grip on their weapon, the warmth of their heater lessening as it was quieted to a low murmur.

The robots sight was not perfect, especially in this lighting, so the dark figure stayed obscure, hunched and walking carefully, slow steps as its head swerved around a few times.

Thief. Making sure there was no one around to catch them.

WX78 waited, morningstar held tightly in their hands, cogs and wheels slowing almost to a stop as they stiffened up. Coded responses ran through their metal skull, lined numbers of best to worse action paths, and the intruder wandered closer, hesitation fading away.

The fleshbag thought it was being clever, keeping close to the bushes, watching the more open areas of WX78’s garden. Its slow steps became less so, skittish posture lessening, and the robot stiffened as their bush was neared. Back turned to the robot, straightening up and rolling its shoulders, the thief turned its gaze downward, to the few flowers left scattered about.

Darkness would come soon, and the intruder fiddled for a moment with the bag on its back and pulled out an object, an unknown variable for a few moments before the miners hat was switched on, low buzzing from the captive fireflies.

WX78 could not fully identify the thief without facial recognition, but other key factors rose enough to mark the list of suspects down:

((-  
\--:  
HEIGHT  
(greaterthan)GENTSTINK  
(lessthan)VIKINGFALSE  
AGE  
(greaterthan)SPIDERCHILD/GHOSTCHILD  
(lessthan?)BOOKMAGE  
HEALTH  
(greaterthan)???  
(lessthan)TREEVORE  
HUNGER  
(greaterthan)SOFTMIME  
(lessthan)FEARSTRONG  
SANITY  
(greaterthan)LITFUSE  
(lessthan)ISELF  
\--:  
-))

The robot could not verify the exact code without solid information, but facts were lining up in favor for a person who WX78 had a very dark grudge against.

Even if it was not, it would not matter. Stealing was stealing, and WX78 had enough of such exploitation.

Silently they straightened up, steam build up diverted into cushions in their joints, to quiet their natural noises for this one moment, warmth loosening up the metal and seeping off their rust stained carapace. The morning star was raised, high overhead, as the thief used the beam of the miners hat to survey the garden's mostly barren soil.

A second of time passed, strings of code sent and examined and accounted for in that time frame, of what ifs and if this, then that, the moment used to double check the course of action at a speed no organic mortal could achieve, and then WX78 let their arms swing down with the full force of the morningstar in a great creaking sweep.

The sound was loud, metal squealing together in their shoulders and hurried bursts of heat and siphoned oil were directed to the offending areas but it was too late; the thief had heard.

Fortunately said thief was completely unprepared, only giving a glance behind it that barely processed the robots hulking figure before it tried to dart to the side, the blow glancing its shoulder with a harsh thud and rip of clothing.

It went down, too shocked to move quickly enough, and WX78s systems shifted into gear, the vibration chatter of their heater and sudden movements out of the bush and over the fallen fleshbag making their dark shell grind and clatter together, steam hissing out in puffs from around their head and from their facial openings. Light flickered from their optics, processing code and thought quicker than the organic fleshy thing before them, one of its hands pressing feebly against its injured shoulder, blood seeping out between its gloved fingers.

The miners hat had fallen, thumped against dry, cold soil, and the thief glanced at the looming robot before making a mad scramble for it, face twisted in a scowl of pain and focus, panic creeping into its dark eyes. WX78 waited a full second as it tried to fling itself to the light source, fully understanding an escape plan when facing such a thing, and with that the robot shuddered in mechanical energy and rose a foot up before stomping down, all weight piled into one stable limb as they crushed down onto fragile bones and flesh.

WX78 had been expecting a scream, something shrill and embarrassing and absolutely full of pain, but all they got was a sharp hiss, a frantic tug as the thief tried to free its bleeding, broken hand, fingers scraping uselessly against the robots metal boot.

WX78 clicked, mechanics shifting into another gear, heater speeding up into a steady flow of warm air that swirled in their wire choked chest, and as more codes snapped together and cogs started rushing different ways the sky darkened into the blackness of night, only the confined fireflies soft light bathing the both of them.

“MAXWELL.”

The robot clicked, churred as audio rumbled from their chest, heavily leaning to put more pressure onto the fragile bones and flesh under their weight. The man froze, turned a snarling glare up at them, looking more disheveled and rough then he had when WX78 had last seen him.

A saved file resurfaced for a moment, a brief flash of the trial and overwhelmingly biased jury teeming with pent up rage, and then it was filed away again, shelved back into the robots data library.

“Ambush isn't your style, Automaton. I'd expect better of you.”

Crouched down in the dirt, literally pinned into place, the Former Kings voice, no matter the effort put into it, was severely degraded compared to the Shadow Tyrants elegant presence upon the Nightmare Throne. WX78 stared stiffly down at the now powerless King piece, unbothered by the vain attempts being made by the man to free his hand. Blood was pooling, staining the dirt and soaking the fringes of the mans sleeves, leaking underneath the robots metal boot.

Something clicked in WX78s barrel chest, buzzing before the gears rolled, the robot still and silent for a moment as they prepped their joints and inner workings with dowsing oil, oozing streaks bubbling from their facial orifices and the thin cracks of its rusted shell.

In one swift moment WX78 dropped down into a crouch, a shriek of pressurized steam hissing from the joints in their shoulders that made the man flinch, stiff snarl and narrowed eyes glaring at the robot. A billowing cloud rose from their head, warm and humid before dissipating in the cold air. 

They tilted their head, more clicking echoing out, this time from their face. Shutters flashed over their optics for a moment, cleaning the glass of residue, the flicker of inner workings shining through briefly. Lines of code ran down their system, a brief click for a moment as their empathy module responded and thus was resolutely shut down, and the robot steamed with heated air, oily fuel dribbling down their rusted shell. 

((-  
\--:  
VISUAL RECORD 237.979 COMMENCING…  
. . .  
AUDIO RECORDING 14.0 COMMENCING…  
\--:  
-))

Their barrel chest clattered, the churning gears torn and cannibalized from the other, lesser mechanical creatures roaming this mortal world, squealing in protest before oil gushed between them and soothed the rough vibrations from their chest. The former King winced at the noise, free hand curled into claws that scraped uselessly at WX78 before tightening into a fist, wrinkled face snarling up at the robot and teeth bared. 

“So what next then? Wait for me to freeze to death?”

The mans voice wavered at the end, biting hiss fading as WX78 leaned their face in close, invading his personal space. He couldn't pull back from the robots blank gaze, face flickering for a moment and eyes darting to his trapped hand and the fallen miners hat before fixing on the automatons metal shelled face.

“FACTS INCONCLUSIVE. MORE INFORMATION REQUIRED. QUESTION: YOU ARE THE ONE STEALING MY DARK FLOWERS?”

Maxwells face hardened, teeth bared at the robot and he seemed to gather enough nerve to copy WX78s gesture, faces inches apart.

“Is that what this is about? Really? I see no sign, no name marking this place as property; I've stolen nothing, only taken what was left around.”

WX78 leaned back, a puff of steam clouding around them, slow hissing as their insides churned and scrapped together. They clicked, rolling oil soaked devices within them, the voice recording scripted and stored in one of their many data libraries. The confession of guilt was added and categorized under an old, well hated file name, which was unfortunately quite barren at this point in time.

“UNACCEPTABLE. EXCUSE NOT ACKNOWLEDGED, NOR EVER WILL BE. THIEF HAS BEEN APPREHENDED; CONSEQUENCES WILL NOW COMMENCE.”

The Former King had the nerve to look surprised, tugging on his pinned hand as he watched the robot creak threateningly and raise their metal hand slowly, hissing steam erupting from their joints. 

Nothing happened for a moment, silence save for the robots inner whirring and clanging, the man eyes locking onto the robots, face wrinkling into a snarl as if daring them, as if he did not believe anything would come to pass.

Mortals were so stupid. WX78 clicked, facial openings flashing for a few moments, snapshots tucked away to be reviewed later. The Before file was almost full and would need to be cleaned, but they wanted to keep these ones indefinitely. 

Catching a thief was one thing. Catching a former King was another, especially with hands so red, and WX78 would not be the only one to appreciate such pictures.

Perhaps, after this, it shall ask the (BOOKMAGE) for parchment. Oily fuel worked well as printing ink, as long as one didn't scrape at it too much.

WX78 was fine using themself as such a mundane machine; as long as the mortals around them become disquieted with the satisfaction the robot gained from viewing such physical images, then they would take such printing task as if they had been a simple tool rather than a fully autonomous being.

Humans were such pathetic wastes. They understood little, and misinterpretation of WX78s actions were common to behold when they were in the main camp. 

As if it was really that hard, recognizing the copy of mortal reaction twisted to suit WX78s own acts. Empathy was lacking, but every other circuit worked perfectly; the robot had no need for such a human thing like empathy.

With such a module came guilt and shame, sorrow and grief.

WX78 would never enjoy themself fully if that module was responding properly. It was just unfortunate that tearing out the offending machinery would disable its entire system, but it was easy enough to clip a few wires, to bastardize their own inner workings for their own convenience. 

If their empathy module had been fully online, aware and connected and used, WX78 would never be able to do what they were about ready to do.

For a brief moment, WX78 congratulated themself in having such foresight.

And then they lowered their hand, not at all harsh or heavy handed, to rest on the former Kings balding head.

They waited for the surprise and confusion, darkened eyes to flicker between their face and the hand limp and motionless on his head, waited and another snapshot was taken, a flicker in the workings behind the glass of their optics.

“What are yo-”

And then WX78s metal fingers tightened significantly and a harsh puff of steam rushed from their shoulders as they yanked the mans head back and with that slammed his face into the frost hardening earth.

There was a grunt, a sound of surprise and shock, and the robot leaned forward heavily, thick metal fingers curled tight into the man's scalp as they shoved the former Kings face into the cold dirt of their vandalized garden.

He tried to struggle, free hand scraping into the earth and back arching up, trying to free himself, and the robot clicked in satisfaction at the sight. Jerking the man's head back up, throat exposed and face a dirt smeared mess, spitting pebbles and clods of dirt as best as he could, the robot made sure to get one more good look into the former demons pitch black eyes.

It was so disappointing, seeing such humanity in such a being, seeing it here and now, as well as having seen it in the past. Nonetheless, even something as human as revenge would never be turned down by them.

They earned this right. They get to live longer, prosper and lord over the creations of this world, having done so once with all the power in this plane and thus again as they are now. 

Unlike this man, this mortal who had been graced with such power and had only squandered it with games and promises. 

Humans were such a waste.

WX78s hand tightened, yanking the man's head back a little more - not enough for vertebrae damage but enough to cause a yelp, a screwing up of the eyes and wrinkled face twisting with pain - and the robots heater whirred as the gears inside them hummed with something not unlike anticipation.

Such a waste, and the code for that thought was more than just a little tinged with sarcasm, more like absolutely drenched in the tone. 

For a moment the former King almost got a few words out, squinting pitch black eyes at the robot and baring his teeth, before WX78 got down to the business of the ‘CONSEQUENCES’ of the man's thievery.

Twice more into the hard earth and the mans nose was broken, struggles getting a little more frantic as steam hissed out of the robot almost explosively. The tugging to get free was doing more harm than good, the robot squashing the man's face into dirt and his own blood, almost hearing the sound of bones shifting about as they glanced to where they were pinning his hand down.

Even if he got away, which he wouldn't, the former King would certainly be without a hand for the test of this lifetime. The robot was very, very heavy, and the white of bone and torn flesh was evidence enough, old blood coagulating in the cold and new blood streaming out of the traumatic injury.

There was a muffled cluster of words, the mans free hand a fist that banged against the robots metallic arm, and they let him struggle some more, gasping in the dirt for a few moments before jerking his head back once more and proceeding. 

Blood and spit, dirt getting muddled as they continued to slam the man's head into the earth, WX78 putting more and more strength into each yank and shove, and a sudden hiss of steam escaped from the sides of their head, audio erupting from within them as they leaned forward and increased their pace.

“DO NOT STEAL FROM ME. DO NOT STEAL FROM ME. DO NOT STEAL FROM ME-”

Voice as monotone as ever, completely expressionless, no feeling whatsoever, yet they seemed to get louder, enunciating each word as deeply and as loudly as possible, a bellowing rumble in their chest as they proceeded to clobber the man's head into an unrecognizable mess of reds and whites and grays.

“DO NOT STEAL FROM ME DO NOT STEAL FROM ME DO NOT STEAL FROM ME DO NOT STEAL FROM ME-”

At some point the struggling stopped, shoulders slumping and free hand going limp, gloved fingers still clawed into the earth, yet WX78 continued for a while after, leaning fully over the man and looming down, metal hand stained with gore as their audio rose in screams of monotonous cacophony that rose in the surrounding darkness and echoed out over the barren garden. 

It took the miners helmet to stutter, light flickering as the fireflies tired, for the robot to stop abruptly.

They sat there, pressing their metal hand as hard and as heavily as they could into the mass of broken flesh that they had slammed into the ground, not a sound besides their gears and cogs turning ever onward, heater still warming the robots core. Something clicked, deep inside them, a shuffle of their internal workings as they slowly released their grip from the corpse.

((-  
\--:  
VISUAL RECORD 237.979 SAVED.  
AUDIO RECORDING 14.0 SAVED.  
\--:  
-))

More clicking, the robot slowly sliding back up to stand over the corpse, staring down at the pooling blood that soaked into frost alighted earth, to seep deep into the roots of the few remaining dark flowers.

After a moment the robot leaned over, firmly tugged at the broken scalp and raised it up, blood dripping and dribbling down as the body sagged under gravity. The shutters of their eyes swiped over their optics, faint glow of their insides shifting and flashing, documenting the sight of such disfigurement and saving permanently into their memory banks.

And then with that WX78 released their blood stained grip and the resounding thump was quieter than expected, collapsing into a pile of dapper clothing and boney limbs and gorey mess. They straightened up, head turning slowly as they surveyed their surroundings, the miners hat flickering once more and bathing them in a flash of pitch darkness.

WX78 took their time, turning back to their initial hiding bush and rummaging around for their unlit lantern, ignoring their discarded morning star weapon completely. Once that was in hand, carefully turning on the faint pure light, the robot made its way over to the flickering hat, fireflies slowly falling asleep almost peacefully inside the glass.

And then they raised their blood stained boot in one quick motion and crushed the fragile hat, glass shattering and releasing a few insects before the rest were squished in the remains. They jumped about, flickering feebly in the blinding light of the lanturn, before quickly flying off, away from the slowly growing stronger scent of death.

WX78s sensors activated and understood, and once again the robot gained a sense of satisfaction from the entire situation.

“THIS CONCLUDES OUR BUSINESS TOGETHER, PAL.”


End file.
